The Tale of Amarthwen Maiden of Doom
by Moon Syde
Summary: A Lord of the Ring based story, played after the third age. Of the coming of a new darkness.
1.

The Tale of Amarthwen  
  
(Maiden of Doom)  
  
Prologue  
  
One of the first things she could remember from her childhood was a small stream. The water felt cold between her tows, giving her refreshment on the warm sunny day, the sound of the water running pleasantly in her ears. Her mother was stroking and braiding her black hair giving her a feeling of warmth and love. She felt like she could not feel any saver anywhere else.  
  
It had been a wonderful day in June. Twelve years after the defeat of Sauron and the quest for the ring. Most elves had sailed out to the west and left Middle Earth to the Men and Dwarves and other free folk. She knew her mother was saddened by the thought their where no but a few of her kin left. Rómenwen, Maiden of Sunrise, she was called, because her golden hair shinned every bright among that hour. She had lived in the golden woods of Lothlorien, dancing between the falling leaves, until darkness took her. Rómenwen had wandered to far of to the borders of her land and was taken captive by the servants of the dark and brought to the tower of Barad-Dur deep in the land of Mordor. Here she was bound to Sauron the Abhorred and lived many dark days in his fortress, until his fall. She was set free and returned to Lothlorien knowing she was carrying a child in her womb. The child of a dark lord. When she reached the borders of Lothlorien her faith had traveled before her. She would not be granted access to the golden woods ever again unless she doomed her unborn child to death. Although it was the hardest choice of her life, Rómenwen left the lands of her birth and her kin to give birth to the child of Sauron the Abhorred, to her child. For she could not let it in her heart to leave her child to death.  
  
And so it was that Sydë was born in the wild and wandered years with her mother over the free lands of Middle Earth. For some time they lived in peace and quiet. And Sydë learned the elvish as well as the common tongue, and fighting skills with the bow and knifes. She was eager to learn and made herself a new weapon she called the Maron, an elbow length stick with a knife on both sides, and learned to rotate it faster like non-other.  
  
But it seems that to all their happy times had to come an end. Twenty years after Saurons defeat, darkness began to rise again, like it had never left. Sydë's short and happy life was turned around when she and her mother where attacked by a host of servants of the dark. They both fought long and hard and the dark side had many losses but it did not matter. Sydë was caught and slowly taken away, if it was not for Rómenwen, who slained the garths before laying herself to ground and find peace in the halls of Mandos. Sydë was overwhelmed with grief and for a moment could do nothing else than shed tears for the person she loved most in her life. Till rage overtook her. She had never fought like this before. On stroke sent two men flying into the air. None other than her would live to tell the tale.  
  
And so begins the tale of Sydë. By the elves called Amarthwen. Maiden of Doom. 


	2. Chapter I

Chapter 1  
  
Sounds. Small sounds of moving leaves. In on movement Sydë was of the ground armed with her bow, the arrow only inches away from the animal's head. It only was Isil, her horse. She lowered her bow and stroked the horse's head. "Isil, crazy one, you know better than to let me scare like that", she whispered in the horse ear.  
  
She thought about Isil when she first saw her. She was in Minas Tirith, looking for some supplies and transport. While looking for a horse she came across a small horse. The poor thing was emaciated, and in such a state it was hard to know with color it was. The horse had been an outcast, just like her. She took the animal under her care and after only days out in the wild slopes and wood, the horse had show remarkable strength and speed; it's dark gray color now clearly visible. She gave it the name Isil, translated Moon in Quenya. They hadn't been apart since.  
  
She let her thoughts return to the present. She looked at the incredible darkness of the wood. The silence was striking, like the whole world was holding its breath. She sad down on the ground folding her legs under her. She wouldn't be able to sleep now. She hadn't been able to have a good night sleep since her mother died. Always hiding, always watching, always on her guard.  
  
She had traveled to almost every corner of Middle Earth, searching for something she did know, without knowing what she wanted to find. Tonight her path had leaded her into a small forest on the west side Hithaiglin or the Misty Mountains, called the troll forest, near to Rivendell. Sydë had never been in Rivendell but had traveled around it many times. Listening to the faint singing voices of the elves that still dwelled there, longing for the company of them. But she couldn't, they wouldn't have her.  
  
She looked up through the trees to the sky. Fog was closing in around her. The morning was coming. She put out the small fire that was still going and covered her tracks. You never could be careful enough, she had learned that now, learned it the hard way. In a quick movement she got on Isil, turning her to face the East. Her path would take her past Rivendel, to take the pass over the Misty Mountains to the East side. She took a small path down and stopped for a moment on a small open spot between the trees. Here stood tree stone trolls, as story tells, placed there by an extraordinary Hobbit. She had seen them before but every time she came passed them she felt like she should stop for a second, remembering the tales and legend of the old, and the past hero's that dwelled here no more.  
  
She left the forest behind a couple hours later, making her way to the river ford that gained access to the land of Rivendel. She remembered the first time she had crossed the ford. She had never felt her heart beat so fast as that day, afraid the power of the elves would set the water loose to devour her. But nothing had happened. That magic of the elves was no more, or just not meant for her. She crossed the river like many times before and rode on, silently, unnoticed. While ridding she listened to the songs of Elves, longing to sing with them. Hoping that someday she would get the change. 


	3. Chapter II

Chapter 2  
  
Long days had passed since she had crossed the ford of Rivendell. Riding days through, sleeping little in the nights finding shelter in one of the many caves. Finally she left the narrow and rough mountain paths of Hitaiglin and traded them for the plains of the lands around the river Anduin.  
  
She rode to the clear waters of the great river, allowing her horse and herself to rest in the bright afternoon sun. The river was quiet here, and the sound of running water pleasantly ran in her ears again, calling up memories, making her feel alone and sad. She looked at the dark forest across the river. Mirkwood, home of the spiders and many other dark things. She had lingered in the woods twice, for it's beauty was great. She did not stay long; mostly traveling through, cause the woods where traitorous. The light of elvish feast clearly visible in the night, luring enemies away from there secret lands into the arms of spiders. She continued to gaze at the woods, while eating some of the berries she had found, their juice tasted sweet on her lips.  
  
She continued to gaze in the distance, when she suddenly saw something between the trees. A shadow, hardly visible for even the elvish eye, carefully hidden between the trees. She set her eyes in another direction to look upon the same spot moments later, but the shadow had perished, like clouds on this sunny day. Had it been true what she had seen? Or where it simply her eyes deceiving her after a long journey. She remained a while watching the trees on the other shores but the shadow appeared no more.  
  
She continued her journey again, humming elvish songs of old, the sunlight stroking her face. The small breeze of wind, waving her black curly hair that had escaped the comfort of the cloak backwards. On days like this she felt free. Just her and Isil, one with the grounds they call Middle Earth. But cold soon crept back into her heart, for she longed for companions and a place to call home.  
  
They crossed the shallow waters of Sîr Ninglor, the gladden river. And reached the fields of Loeg Ningloron, the gladden fields, when the sun appeared for the last time that day on the horizon. It was awestricken. The sun giving it's last glow on the fields, turning them into many shades of orange and red before leaving them to the moonlight.  
  
She started a small fire on a place where the flowers did not grow, carefully not to spoil the beauty of the fields. The warmth of the fire felt comfortable against her skin and she pulled her cloak further around her while watching the sparks fly into the midnight air. It was a dark night. And the only shapes that remained where those were the fire caste her light on.  
  
She had slept her troubled sleep for some hours when a darkening feeling awakened her out of her nightmares. She opened her eyes a little, carefully not to show any signs of awaking and stared to the small fire that only gave a light blue glow now. Her eyes turned a little and there carefully hidden in the night's darkness was the shadow, standing only a few meters from her, watching, waiting. Her hand vaulted on the maron, her self made weapon, as she laid there still, waiting for the shadow to make it's move. But the move did not come. It just stood there hour after hour, like it was part of the scenery, until the morning drew near and it vanished into the night's sky.  
  
She remained her journey only a half hour later; the night's events clear in her head, troubling her mind. She would go to Lothlorien, the golden wood, where the darkness did not crept so as in these lands.  
  
She reached the woods close to sunset. She remained her journey by foot, leading Isil onwards, with the quiet and light walk of the elvish kin. When she reached the stream of Nimrodel darkness had fallen again, but the golden leaves of Lothlorien brought light upon the darkening forest. Nimrodel, the stream that told the story of the maiden that carried the same name, many ages ago. She had heard her mother whisper the song, lost in memories of her youth, mourning for the loss of her kin. She sad down by the stream, running her hands through the water that was cold and refreshing, listening to the sound of the stream, joining them in their song;  
  
"A Elven maid there was of old,  
  
A shining star by day:  
  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
  
Her shoes of silver-grey.  
  
A star was bound upon her brows,  
  
A light was on her hair  
  
As sun above the golden boughs  
  
in Lórien the fair.  
  
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,  
  
And fair she was and free;  
  
And in the wind she went as light  
  
As leaf of linden-tree.  
  
Beside the falls of Nimrodel,  
  
By water clear and cool,  
  
Her voice as falling silver fell  
  
Into the shining pool.  
  
Where now she wanders none can tell,  
  
In sunlight or in shade;  
  
For lost of yore was Nimrodel  
  
And in the mountains strayed.  
  
The elven-ship in haven grey  
  
Beneath the mountain-lee  
  
Awaited her for many a day  
  
Beside the roaring sea.  
  
A wind by night in Northern lands  
  
Arose, and loud it cried,  
  
And drove the ship from elven-strands  
  
Across the streaming tide.  
  
When dawn came dim the land was lost,  
  
The mountains sinking grey  
  
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed  
  
Their plumes of blinding spray.  
  
Amroth beheld the fading shore  
  
Now low beyond the swell,  
  
And cursed the faithless ship that bore  
  
Him far from Nimrodel.  
  
Of old he was an Elven-king,  
  
A lord of tree and glen,  
  
When golden were the boughs in spring  
  
In fair Lothlórien.  
  
From helm to sea they saw him leap,  
  
As arrow from the string,  
  
And dive into the water deep,  
  
As mew upon the wing.  
  
The wind was in his flowing hair,  
  
The foam about him shone;  
  
Afar they sam him strong and fair  
  
Go riding like a swan.  
  
But from the West has come no word,  
  
And on the Hither Shore  
  
No tidings Elven-folk have heard  
  
Of Amroth evermore."  
  
There was a movement behind her. Light footsteps. She reached for her bow and quickly turned around. She gasped for air, there was an arrow point only inches away from her head, she looked at his bearer, a young elf with dark hair and eyes that were looking at her arrow that was pointing on his head in return. 


End file.
